


Administrative Difficulties

by likethenight



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bureaucracy, Comment Fic, Community: comment_fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on comment-fic on LJ: "Discworld/Harry Potter, Peter Pettigrew & Death & Death of Rats, when Pettigrew dies there's a bit of a...debate...over whose jurisdiction he falls under"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Administrative Difficulties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twilightfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightfire/gifts).



> My first venture into comment-fic; I strolled into the unfilled prompts archive, and this one by [meteorfire](http://meteorfire.livejournal.com/) leapt off the screen at me. Never mind that I haven't read either series in years, have never written Discworld, and have never written Peter Pettigrew either, it just sort of made me do it. And since I found, wrote and posted it on the second anniversary of the prompt being posted, and I love that sort of coincidental weird-shit, well...here it is. (this is the unedited version; I had to trim [the one on the comm](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/315755.html?thread=57181547#t57181547) for size)

SQUEAK. 

WELL, I DON'T SEE WHY YOU'RE BEING QUITE SO DIFFICULT ABOUT THIS, Death said, the faintest note of exasperation creeping into his tone. They had been having this conversation for quite some time.

The Death of Rats leaned on its scythe, its head cocked to one side; if it had had a face, it would have been wearing an expression of belligerent frustration. SQUEAK, it repeated. SQUEAK SQUEAK. SQUEAK.

YES, I AM PREPARED TO ADMIT THAT IT IS QUITE UNPRECEDENTED. HOWEVER, I DON'T HAVE TIME TO STAND AROUND ARGUING WITH YOU ALL DAY.

SQUEAK. The Death of Rats tilted its head in the opposite direction, for all the world as though raising an eyebrow very high indeed. SQUEAK. It pointed at the hourglass, which had been sitting next to the body since Death had produced it from his robes. The Death of Rats had not seemed overly happy that Death had been the one to bring it.

OH VERY WELL, IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE LIKE THAT ABOUT IT. LET'S LOOK AT IT RATIONALLY. HE SPENT LONGER IN HUMAN FORM THAN IN RAT FORM, DID HE NOT?

SQUEAK.

Death sighed heavily. YES, I KNOW THE LIFESPAN OF A RAT IS MUCH SHORTER THAN THAT OF A HUMAN. WHICH IS WHY I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE IN MORE OF A HURRY TO RESOLVE THIS MATTER SO THAT YOU MAY BE OFF AND ATTEND TO THE REST OF YOUR UNDOUBTEDLY VERY BUSY DAY. YOU MUST HAVE MANY OTHER RATS TO COLLECT.

The Death of Rats gave a squeak that sounded rather as though it had wanted to be a raspberry when it grew up, but had realised that such a thing was beyond its capabilities. 

OH, FOR GOODNESS' SAKE. SO HE SPENT LONGER AS A HUMAN THAN AS A RAT, BUT IT WAS HIS CHOICE TO LIVE AS A RAT. WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE US?

"Um, excuse me?" The subject under discussion sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around him in confusion. "Am I dead?"

SQUEAK.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you." Peter Pettigrew shook his head, looking puzzled, as though he had expected to understand the sound made by the Death of Rats, but had somehow lost the ability to comprehend Rat. "I thought I…oh dear."

YES, said Death, YOU ARE MOST CERTAINLY DEAD. HOWEVER, THERE IS A CERTAIN…ADMINISTRATIVE MATTER TO BE OVERCOME BEFORE YOU MAY PROCEED.

Peter glanced between the two robed figures, the expression of confusion clearing from his face very slowly. "Oh. I see. Whether I have to go with you, or with…with him." He gestured a little timidly towards the Death of Rats. 

SQUEAK.

PRECISELY. IT IS NOT A SITUATION WHICH HAS BEEN ENCOUNTERED BEFORE.

"Does it matter which?" Peter asked. "I mean, if I have to go at all, which I suppose I do, being dead and all…" He looked down at himself, apparently surprised to find himself in one piece, and even more surprised to find himself sitting just above…well, himself, or rather his body. "I think I'd rather go with him," he said after a moment, pointing at the Death of Rats again. "There's just…I liked being a rat, and there's quite a few people I don't much want to bump into. No offence," he added rather hastily.

NONE TAKEN, said Death. I QUITE UNDERSTAND. AWKWARD BUSINESS, BETRAYAL.

Peter coughed, evidently rather taken aback by Death's bluntness. "I had my reasons," he said defensively, not sounding nearly as defiant as he had intended. 

I'M SURE YOU DID. THEY USUALLY DO. Death straightened his back, tapping the handle of his scythe decisively on the ground. WELL, IF THAT'S ALL, I'LL BE OFF. THINGS TO DO, SOULS TO COLLECT, YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.

SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats, sounding singularly unimpressed. SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK.

I'M NOT THE ONE WHO WAS KICKING UP A FUSS, Death pointed out. AND YES, I KNOW IT IS NOT…CUSTOMARY TO ALLOW THEM A CHOICE. HOWEVER, I SEE NO OTHER SOLUTION THAT WILL NOT INVOLVE ALL OF US STANDING AROUND HERE FOR A GREAT DEAL LONGER THAN WE ALL NEED TO. 

SQUEAK SQUEAK. SQUEAK. SQUEAK.

AGAINST WHICH REGULATIONS? I WAS RATHER UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT WE ARE MAKING IT UP AS WE GO ALONG, ARE WE NOT? Death shrugged. I CERTAINLY TEND TO GET THE IMPRESSION THAT YOU DO, ANYHOW. WE DO WHAT WE DO BECAUSE WE DO IT. WE CAN'T STAND HERE ALL DAY. AT LEAST, I CAN'T, I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU.

The Death of Rats made the wishing-it-were-a-raspberry noise again. SQUEAK, it said. SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. It picked up the hourglass and vanished, taking Pettigrew with it, and Death sighed, rubbing at his temple with one bony finger.

JUST WHEN I THINK I'VE SEEN IT ALL, he said. WELL, THAT'S THAT SETTLED. COME ALONG, BINKY. TIME FLIES, AS IT WERE, AND WE HAVE A GREAT MANY OTHER PLACES TO BE.

There was a brief clatter of hooves and then they were gone, leaving behind them only the silver-handed empty shell that had once been Peter Pettigrew, its occupant gone to his rightful place.


End file.
